Neighbor Man
by Degrazzi
Summary: She's just the babysitter; the beautiful, innocent, 16-year-old babysitter who seems to taunt him in his most provactive dreams. And he's just the neighbor man; the handsome, mysterious introvert with a smirk that could drive any woman crazy. As lovers, they are the biggest controversy to burden their small neighborhood since 1993. Rated M for reasons.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This is a strange story that I wrote for shits and giggles. It features under-aged smut, so read at your own discretion. This is Eclare/ AU. It's the kind of bizarre scenario one might read in a cliché romance novel. Sorry for any mistakes or ridiculousness. Let me know if you would like to me continue with this. I have a story in mind to continue with if I can get like 15 reviews. I know that sounds like a lot, but I want to know that people actually want me to continue with this. I won't ever ask for that many again. Without further ado, please enjoy Neighbor Man.**

It's been another quiet night for me at the Goldsworthy household.

Adriana is fast asleep in five-year-old dreamland; Pablo is playing with his Gameboy under the covers of his bed, while I pretend that I don't notice, and Elijah Jr. is cuddled up into my side, suckling his thumb and drifting in and out of sleep. He refuses to sleep in bed until his father comes home, so he sleeps on the couch until around 1am. Their mother isn't in the picture, so Mr. Goldsworthy works to support all of them. He picks up extra shifts often, and usually works late into the night. I've grown accustomed to last minute calls for a sitter and late-nights of waiting to be dismissed. I've been babysitting his kids for almost a year now, but the only impressions I've received from Mr. Goldsworthy are in the 5 minutes after he gets home, before I head home and go to bed. I live right down the street, so it's not exactly a bother, and the money is nice, but sometimes, it would be nice to have a set schedule.

I won't complain about it, however. He seems like a bit of a hothead, so I don't want to provoke him, and I really should be grateful for the money. All of my paycheck goes to my dad, for our mortgage payments, so this job is the reason that we aren't homeless or going hungry.

I hear the quiet click of the front door and rise from my seat on the couch, careful not to stir the little one curled up next to me. Mr. Goldsworthy walks through the threshold and stares at me, his eyes holding something in them that I'm unfamiliar with. In my 16 years of life, I've never seen such a look on a man.

Something is different about him tonight, but I just can't place my finger on it.

"Hello, Mr. Goldsworthy." I say innocently, wary of his odd demeanor. I rub my palms anxiously on my thighs and give him a small smile before walking toward the front door. I grab my book off of the end table and make a beeline for my escape, but not before he grips onto my shoulder and stops my departure. I spin around and look at him curiously, my nerves growing with each moment that passes between us.

"Is that Palahniuk?" He asks, eyeing the softcover in my hands and loosening his grip on my shoulder. I raise a brow at him briefly before nodding my answer.

"Yes. He's my favorite author." I say monotonously, wishing to free myself from the clutch of warm hand. "I-I should get home. School tomorrow."

We've never exchanged so many words in the entire year that I've been working here. Our interactions are usually about his children, when he needs me to work again, and the transferring of my checks. We never speak about personal things, for it is simply unprofessional and unnecessary.

He lets go of me and smirks in a way that I've never seen on him. The skin around his mouth wrinkles attractively, and I find myself strangely drawn to this man. I cannot deny that he is good-looking, with his piercing emerald eyes, his pouty, plump lips and the swooping black waves that grace his head. In fact, I can't believe it's taken me an entire year to realize that he is so gorgeous.

"Clare, how old are you?" He asks me quietly, and red flags are immediately raised in my mind.

"Six-t-teen, sir." I choke out, suddenly weak in the knees from nerves.

"You look very mature for your age." He states, his voice raspy as he stares at me up and down. The area between my legs starts to ache at his hungry gaze, and I feel like running to the door to escape this unfamiliar situation. Instead, I remain glued in place, unable to think coherently. What is happening to me?

"Mr. Goldsworthy, I should g-go." I squeak out, stepping back from him a bit and trying to regain my senses.

He steps towards me and closes the gap between us. He clasps onto my waist with both of his hands, and stares down at me with a dangerous look. I fear for my safety for a moment, until I notice the look of lust melt into adoration, and I see kindness peek through in his eyes. "Do you want this as much as I do?" He asks, a hint of trepidation lingering under his lusty voice.

I'm not sure how to speak at this point, so I shrug stiffly and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart.

He maintains the contact with my waist and pulls me a bit closer, so that my chest is pressed against his own. He groans lowly at the contact and I feel my nipples tighten at the sensation. He has me so far gone and he doesn't even know it. I wonder how many other babysitters he has had his way with, how experienced he is in the art of seduction. The thought makes me sick and I pull away slightly, leaving a look of worry etched on his gorgeous features.

"I need this job… So if you think you can take advantage of me and fire me, y-you're wrong. I'm nobody's acquisition, Mr. Goldsworthy… If you so much as threaten my job, I'll report you for sexual harassment. " I state with a newfound boldness.

I will not let this older man use me and throw me away. Despite how tempting he looks in these dim lights, how much I want to strip him of his suit and tie, and how sexy his voice is when it's peppered thick with lust, I won't let him screw me over and take away my job. I may not be a bible-thumping, holier-than-thou, private school girl anymore, but I surely will not have sex with someone who plans on throwing me away afterwards. Especially when so much of my well-being is riding on this job.

Not that I want a relationship with my 30-something year old boss… I just don't want to be used for his sexual gratification and nothing more.

I don't even know what's gotten into me! Am I really considering giving my virginity to this man? This is so wrong, so dangerous, so… not me.

Maybe that is why I'm so completely enraptured by the sight of him. Maybe the danger is pushing me to this point of sexual frenzy and risk.

"I would never do that to you." He states firmly, caressing my waist gently and planting feather light kisses on my neck. "I would never hurt something so beautiful." He mumbles onto my skin, sending tickly goosebumps all over my arms and back.

I hear myself let out a soft, throaty moan and I let him explore my skin, my anxiety quickly turning into ecstasy. He stops and looks up at me, biting his lip as if he is holding back. He grasps my face between his palms and our eyes meet lustfully.

"Do you promise me that you won't tell anyone? I can't go to jail, Clare. My kids need me. You understand that, right? This, whatever it is, has to stay between us."

I nod eagerly, wanting the same exact thing. I don't need people thinking that I'm a whore, that I threw away my purity for some horny older guy. Word would get around school so quickly… Mr. Goldsworthy would go to jail, I would probably have to get therapy of some kind, and everyone would look at me different. Not to mention, Adriana, Elijah Jr. and Pablo would be orphans. I couldn't do that to such wonderful children. This would have to be completely secretive.

"I can keep a secret." I say seductively, surprised by my own courage. Suddenly, I feel his lips on my own, finally, and the feeling is unlike any I have ever felt before. His lips are soft and plump, and they dance with my own in a frenzied, desperate sort of way.

I've never felt so heated by any boy before.

Then again, Mr. Goldsworthy is no boy. He's a _man_. A man almost twice my age, a man with children, a man who entrusts the well-being of his children to me on an almost daily basis…

This is wrong, so, so, _so wrong._

Yet the pulsating feeling between my legs is telling me that nothing in my life has ever been so damn right.

"Mr. Goldsworthy," I breathe out harshly, breaking apart from his tongue-filled kiss and staring up at his lusty eyes once more. "I don't want to wake him up." I point to the slumbering little boy on the couch and Mr. Goldsworthy smiles at me.

"That's why I like you, Clare. You always think about my kids first. I'll take him to bed. Meet me in my room?" He pulled me into another sloppy kiss before tending to his son.

I saunter up the stairs as quickly as my shaking legs will take me. I've never felt so weak and desperate in my entire life. It's as if he controls every bit of my body, and I'm not even fighting the hold he has on me. What would my mother say if she were alive? She would surely have an aneurism at the sight of her 16-year-old daughter in the arms of a 32-year-old neighbor.

_So wrong._

I quietly open the door to Mr. Goldsworthy's room, and tiptoe over to the bed. I sit down at the edge and take in the surroundings of this room which I've never seen before. There are photos of him and the kids all over the room, but not a single picture of his ex-wife. I wonder why she left them, why she abandoned her beautiful children, her handsome husband, and their large house. This is the kind of house that my dad would kill to have. Who would willingly give up this kind of life?

The room is tidy, the bed is made up and everything seems to have a proper place. Mr. Goldsworthy is so neat that it's almost uncomfortable. My dad just throws things around and cleans them up at a later day. It's more relaxed that way.

Who am I to judge? He raises three kids by himself (with my help, of course) and he should be able to maintain his household in whatever way he sees fit.

Perhaps I'm just trying to distract myself from the fact that I'm being so promiscuous and unholy, with my neighbor, who is twice my age, while his children are asleep in the next room…

_Am I really going to do this?_

I adjust my position and think back to the feeling of Mr. Goldsworthy's hands on my waist, his lips on my neck and the huskiness of his voice ringing in my ears. My arousal peaks again and I resist the urge to touch myself under my skirt while I wait for him.

I've never even been tempted to pleasure myself before this moment, let alone allow someone else to touch me intimately. I'm 100 percent virginal in almost every single way, save a few heated kisses with my ex-boyfriend last year.

Those were nothing like the way Mr. Goldsworthy kissed me, of course.

You know, scenarios like this are something that you read in harlequin novels. Or vampire smut stories. Something unreal and improbable and definitely not reminiscent to the ways of "the Saint Clare Edwards."

What is that saying?

You only live once?

If I don't do this, I'll just be proving everyone else right. I'll prove that I'm unwilling to take risks, I'm not spontaneous, I'm too pure to have fun, and too virginal to give into the sexual feelings inside of me.

I don't want to listen to the logic voices inside of me right now. I want to get lost in the feeling of Mr. Goldsworthy's big, calloused hands and his gruff voice.

I hear the door open and I look up from my spot on the edge of the bed. The dim light of his bedside lamp illuminates his figure, and I can scarcely see his darkened green eyes and the mischievous smirk playing at his lips.

"Where were we?" He questions playfully, before crossing over to me and pushing me down on my back.

_Oh Lord, forgive me, for I have sinned._

**A/N Alright, so I hope that was okay! If I continue, I will have real, heavy smut in the next chapter. It will continue right where this one left off. If not, I'll leave it to your imagination. Please review/subscribe/favorite if you are so inclined. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Holy wow! The amount of feedback I received for the first chapter was simply incredible! I didn't expect to even reach the 15 reviews, let alone 24! I squealed just about every time I opened my email yesterday! Thanks to Spacer 231, Ariel Ann101, superfresh,NamilovesDegrassi98, Guest, missmaggiemaybe,xBooKittyx, RRsabi, yellowmile, Guest, dolly854003, InsuperableMisnomer, Hello, DegrassiLover2010, Guest, Eliloverforever13, MirandA, Radio Muses, mamizukee, xXX Unwritten XXx, boogalooshrimp123, Guest, Melon and Eclaremaniac and for the reviews and everyone who favorited and followed! I'm glad that you are enjoying the story so far, and I promise there is a lot of lemon and drama to come! **

**Just so everyone is aware, this story will be very AU, if you haven't figured that out yet. Clare's mother is dead, there is a large age gap, and there will be even more unexpected strangeness when it comes to this story, including Clare's friends, Eli's ex-wife and Clare's family. I hope it doesn't get confusing. If it does, send me a PM or a review and I'll answer any questions that come my way. Thanks again for everything and enjoy this second chapter for Neighbor Man! This chapter is unbelievable graphic, so viewer discretion and fingers crossed that it doesn't get removed! **

_**And in case anyone is wondering, I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant will be updated sometime this week!**_

He pins my wrists above my head, and holds my hips down firmly with his clothed thighs. I squirm a bit, trying, to no avail, to loosen his hold on me and ease the discomfort I feel at our close proximity. For the first time, our most intimate parts brush together, and I can hear my heart thumping wildly in my ears. Mr. Goldsworthy looks almost entranced at this point, and the silence of the room is deafening.

Briefly, I contemplate leaving this situation, running home to the security of my bed and pretending like this whole insane, lust-filled madness never occurred. But the moment I feel his fingertips play with the soft skin of my belly, my body screams for more, and I decide that rationality has no place in this room, on this bed, or between myself and this rapturous man.

I look up at him, staring intently at his every feature, as I become suddenly hyper-sensitive to each touch that he graces me with. He reaches up and begins to unbutton my blazer with one hand, while stroking my side with his other. The gentleness he uses is torturous, and I withhold from him the moans that are dancing in my throat. With every button loosened, my patience wears thinner. I wiggle a bit, hoping that he understands my pleas for more. Instead, he smirks up at me evilly and slows his pace, nearly halting all movement while I drench in sexual frustration.

When he finally removes my blazer, I'm left in only a black camisole and pencil skirt. He throws the garment across the room and lowers himself, so that his face is level with my clothed belly. He lifts the fabric up, so that it hugs the space immediately below my breasts, and plants feather-light kisses all over my stomach, sucking and biting at the untouched flesh. I feel myself falling further into his grasp, and I fear that he will own every part of me before this night is over. I can feel an unrelenting hardness on my lower thigh, and it takes me a moment to realize that it belongs to the man on top of me. The pressure is painful, yet intoxicating, as he thrusts gently against my limbs.

Suddenly, his kisses move downward and my nerves return. I feel as if every inch of my body is tingling with need and panic, and the combination is almost enough to send me spiraling into unconsciousness. I shake it off and watch his descent with interest, as each wet embrace leaves a trail to my most private region. He moves his hands beneath me, and I can feel him working at the zipper of my skirt. I hear the muffled sound of unfastening metal, and feel the fabric being pulled off of my hips and down my bare thighs.

He stares down at me keenly, and attacks the newly-uncovered skin with teasing nibbles. My center throbs frantically and I thrust my hips upward, my boldness startling the older man from his erotic haze. His eyes tear from my legs and bore into my sapphire spheres. I can see a glint of warning in his gaze.

Before I can question it, his head is nestled between my upper thighs, and my center is caressed with his thick, wet tongue. The sensation is so completely foreign to me that I tense up and tighten my thighs around him, crushing his head between them. He wrenches them loose and continues to work on my wet flesh, refusing to let my resisting body win. His tongue moves over one spot in particular, and I finally realize why so many of my peers are obsessed with this. It's surely one of the best feelings in the entire world.

I grip his black locks between my fingers and tug eagerly as my body become increasingly hot. His hands snake back up my shirt and caress my breasts without hesitation. The combination of his contact with my most sacred body parts is quickly becoming too much and I notice my lower areas are tightening up involuntarily. His tongue picks up speed, and I feel one of his fingers slip inside of my hole, bringing my pleasure to an entirely new level with each gentle slip. A cold sweat gleams on my skin and I feel like I'm going to explode into thousands of pieces. My body shakes and convulses, and his hand covers up my mouth, preventing my orgasmic screams from waking his children. My back arches off of his bed and I no longer have control of thrashing form. The pleasure is nearly unbearable and I know that I'm never, ever, _ever _going to get enough of this man. My essences surge out and he softly laps them up with his heavenly tongue. The trembling of my thighs continues briefly until I collapse in utter pleasure on my back.

He rises up and licks his lips at me, still in his trance as he quickly discards of his formal work wear. I stare in awe at the speed of his undressing, and before I can even process what is happening, he is naked in front of me. I gaze fearfully at his starving length, veins pulsing on the shaft and a dab of glistening liquid at the small hole. Some primal, sexual beast inside me is desperate to reach out and stroke his penis, to stroke it between my hands, to massage it in my mouth, to explore his largeness with each part of me.

It appears that he has other plans, however, and I'm in shock as my legs are spread and his body is lowered on top of me. He is lined up with my slick hole, ready to enter into the cavern and snatch away my innocence. I grip onto his shoulder blades and dig my nails in, readying myself for the pain that is about to attack me. He looks into my eyes and I think I can almost see love in them, which confuses and pleases me all the same. He kisses me tenderly one more time before he sinks into my womanhood and breaks the natural barrier swiftly. I hold back sobs of agony and allow him to continue with his intrusion, ignoring the feelings of pain and regret that are seeping through each sweat-covered bit of me. His speed picks up and the pain dulls after a little while, leaving the occasional stab of pleasure when he stabs me in the right spot. I whimper at one particularly perfect thrust, and I see him smile in triumph. He continues to work on that place in me, and I once again feel myself losing control.

"I'm going to cum soon." He whispers in my ear, and I panic at the idea of this man depositing himself into me.

That's when it finally registers in my brain.

Oh. My. God.

_He isn't wearing a condom._

I suddenly want nothing more than to protest this entire experience, but I feel my body giving into the pleasurable thrusting, and my back arches up off of the bed once again. Soon after, he pulls out of me and I feel warm liquid spurting out all over my naked form. He is holding himself and guiding his load onto my skin, and the entire gesture is nauseating. When he finishes, he lies down next to me and pulls me into his arms, an action that I didn't anticipate from him at all.

I discover that I love the sensation of skin on skin, and I love even more the feeling of Mr. Goldsworthy's arms wrapped around my waist.

I love being held by him. I love being near him.

I never want this feeling to end.

I look at him and his face is practically glowing. I have a feeling that mine looks about the same, and I can't help but smile at him. He smiles back and pulls me closer, like it is the most natural thing in the world.

I know that this is completely wrong, sinful, and morally repugnant. I _know_ that it's disturbing, it's dangerous and my mother is probably looking down from heaven with unadulterated shame and disapproval.

But most of all, I know that I'm too far in this to turn back now. I've had a taste of this man, and the pleasures he brings, and I can't forget. I don't even want to forget.

_Mr. Goldsworthy owns every part of me._

**A/N Well, that lemon took up an entire chapter! Oops. I hope it was alright! Please disregard any typos. I'm leaving for work and I wanted to update before I go. 10 reviews would be nice, since I got so many for the first chapter! And if you have tumblr, please follow me. My URL is degrazzi dot tumblr dot com. Thanks and I hope you enjoyed! The next chapter will be less lemon, more action and information. We'll meet Eli's kids, Clare's friends and some surprise people too. **

**Hope you continue to read and enjoy!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N My goodness! Thank you so much to every single person who read and reviewed the previous chapter! I apologize for the wait; I've been working a lot and haven't had much time for creativity. Special shout-outs to my reviewers, who are Eclaremaniac, Eliloverforever13,yellowmile, degrassiluver15, xBooKittyx, Radio Muses, mamizukee, boogalooshrimp123, StraightEdgeBroskiPeep, Eclare LJ and Percabeeth, NamilovesDegrassi98, Goldsworthy's Goddess, missmaggiemaybe, Ariel Ann 101, dolly85003, Amazingxlivexlovexlaughx3, teasun89, Guest, The Cliffhanger Girl and shehadastory!**

**You are all so perfect and wonderful! Thank you so much and I really hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the previous two!**

After a few moments of soft breathing and sticky, skin-on-skin contact, the panic starts to set in. What did I do? Why the heck did I do that? Why did I let him do this to me? He's twice my age! I babysit his children, for goodness sakes! I-I don't do things like this! I don't jump into bed with near strangers, while their kids sleep in neighboring rooms. I don't jump into bed with anyone, period!

I _was_ waiting until marriage, waiting for my beautiful, perfect wedding day, waiting for my pure white dress, and the romantic vows, the reception, the hotel room and sweet, passionate love-making with my _husband. _It wasn't supposed to happen this way. This wasn't my dream. I'd always told myself that it would at least be with someone who loves me, whom I love more than anything, if not in my ideal, honeymoon scenario.

I shoot up from the bed and he looks at me, peering at me with adoration so thick that I almost lose myself in his gaze. He cares about me, I think, but it's too hard to tell in the afterglow of pleasure and bubbling regrets.

Suddenly, I'm sobbing. My cries are loud and ugly, and he stands next to me, looking at me like I'm an injured puppy, like I'm fragile and breakable, and like he has no idea how to mend me. He looks guilty, as if he is the cause of my upset. I suppose there is a ring of truth to his guilt; he is the one who brought me to this place in my life, this place of regret. Though my willingness and naivety was ultimately what led me here, he is still the experienced one, and the blame falls on him customarily.

I run, still undressed, into his master bathroom, and I notice blood dripping down my leg and onto the white, tiled floor. Another sob rips through me, and I grab toilet paper and try desperately to clean myself up. In my haste, I forgot to lock the door behind me, and I see Mr. Goldsworthy staring at me from the door way. I feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny, but I'm more uncomfortable with the drying blood on my thighs and the aching soreness of my womanhood. I give up on cleaning myself and I rise up from the porcelain, walking cautiously, to keep myself from hurting anymore. I clean up the spots of my blood on the ground, and avoid his gaze like the plague.

I am suddenly too aware of my nudity, and his, for that matter. I rise from the ground and we stand in close proximity, completely exposed to one another.

"Are you okay?" He asks me shakily, and I'm slightly taken aback by the worry in his voice.

My sobs have calmed and I open my mouth to reply, though I don't exactly know what to say.

"I'm not sure. This isn't me." I say, and I wonder if he will understand what I mean. "I've never done this before." I tell him, timidly, and I mentally smack myself for the amount of naivety that my words exude. He stares at me, up and down, like he did when he first came home tonight. He is scrutinizing me, but I don't mind as much as I should.

"If it makes you feel better, I didn't know you were a virgin until…" He looks away from me and I can tell that the guilt is upsetting him, even eating away at his conscious. For some reason, his guilt is comforting to me. It assures me that he does, in fact, care about me. And that knowledge makes this experience feel like less of a mistake, and more like another life experience.

"I don't know what came over me." I tell him, because I want to be honest with him, and I don't even know why. There is something inside of me, an urgency of sorts, which wants to tell him everything about me. I yearn to know all about him, and for him to know all about me, and the feeling makes me nauseous, because I am not the type of girl to invest in others.

I bring my arms up hastily to cover my exposed chest. The chilly air of the house hits my exposed nipples, and I don't want Mr. Goldsworthy to get the wrong idea.

"You're cold." He states, taking in my rigid form and the goosebumps coating my skin. "Let me get you something warm to wear. Then, we can talk about this." He moves toward the dresser, but I grab his arm and stop him, not failing to notice the protruding muscles of his bicep in the process.

"Mr. Golds-"

"It's Eli, Clare. We are way past the stage of "Mr. Goldsworthy." He smirks at my open-mouthed look of shock before asking, smugly, "Now, what were you saying?"

"Um," I stutter, because I'm nervous and because his smugness makes me feel a strange mixture of attraction and annoyance. "E-Eli… I have clothes."

He smirks at the obviousness of my statement, and I once again feel stupid in his presence.

"I figured as much, since you were wearing some when I came in."

I resist the urge to reach up and smack him in the face, because the cockiness is becoming annoying and I want him to be sweet to me again.

"But, since you are sensitive, you know, and sore, I thought a warm pair of sweats would be better for you. And you probably don't want to risk getting blood on your nice skirt." He says thoughtfully. Any trace of arrogance is gone from his voice now, and I feel a bit of satisfaction, knowing that he is aware of my needs and wants, and cares to cater to them.

"Thank you, Eli." I say shyly, relishing the taste and feel of his name on my tongue. He hands me some sweats and a large black t-shirt. I pull the clothes on in front of him, not bothering to hide away in privacy, since he's already seen every inch of my naked form. They hang loosely from my body, and I can tell he enjoys seeing me in his wardrobe by the look on his face.

"You're welcome, Clare."

* * *

It hasn't even been twelve hours since I last saw Eli, yet a part of me feels empty without him around. Maybe it's just a feeling that comes with having sex, but I don't particularly enjoy the way that my heart sinks without him next to me.

Now, I'm not a reliant person by any means. I like to care for myself, and take care of the people around me. I'm entirely unaccustomed to feelings of dependence and need, especially when they involve men in my life. If anything, my own father depends on me more than I depend on him. He depends on my money to sustain us, my listening ear to guide his decisions, and my reassurance that he is a good father, and that he isn't failing me. I've been his rock since my mother passed away, 8 years ago, and I'm sure I'll continue to be his rock until the day that one of us dies.

I'm used to it, I really am. And it doesn't bother me to be relied on, depended on and trusted.

What bothers me is the fact that the tables are turning, and I can see myself wanting to rely on Eli, when I know that it's probably not wise to do so. I shouldn't feel so attached to him at all. I don't even know if he wants to be involved with me after last night. I know he won't fire me, for fear of me reporting him, but perhaps he'll re-distance himself, so that he doesn't have to deal with me further. In fact, maybe all he wanted was sex, just one night of pleasure to tide him over. Maybe I'm just a conquest to him, even though he assured me that wasn't the case.

Or maybe he really does care about me.

I'm not really sure about anything at this point, and as I walk up the steps to Degrassi, I know that I would rather be at home, contemplating last night's event, than wasting 7 hours of my life in the public school system.

"Hey, wait the fuck up, Clare!" I hear a voice call to me, and I roll my eyes. I turn around expectantly, and I'm met with a similar pair of blue eyes, and a head of long, cascading black hair. She is sporting a new tongue ring, but I'm not surprised in the least. My 13 year-old sister is a bit of a hell-raiser, and she preaches teenaged rebellion and freedom of expression like it's nobody's business.

"Angel, watch your mouth in public." I hiss at her, wishing she could just pretend like we aren't related, or maybe clean up her vocabulary a smidge. "What do you want?"

"Dad told me to ask you for lunch money."

I roll my eyes and pull my wallet out from my purse. My dad is relying on my income more each day and soon, every penny of it will be bound to some sort of household purpose. I hand her 20 dollars and she practically runs away. I bellow out to her, "That had better last for the next two weeks, or you're going to be really hungry!" She flips me off in response, and I scoff at her immaturity. She'll probably use the money for more body jewelry, because she doesn't care about anybody but herself. I wish I could understand, and attribute it to her age, but when I was 13, I was doing everything that I do right now, but instead of babysitting; I was doing yard work for income. Being young isn't an excuse to do nothing, squander money away and mark your body forever, in my opinion. But my dad doesn't like to hinder her creativity or her childhood, he says, so we let her run amuck and hang out with senior boys, dye her hair all sorts of crazy colors, and curse with every word in the book.

It's for creativity, right?

I finally make my way into Degrassi, walking slower than usual because of my "situation", and before I make it to my locker, my eyes are covered with someone's hands.

"Guess who!" The person says eagerly, and I grin, knowing that my best friend is the culprit, because we go through this ritual almost every morning.

"I'm going to say… Imogen!" I laugh, and her hands drop from my eyes, a look of disappointment etched out on her make-up adorned features.

"One day, I'm going to send someone else to do it. Then, you'll feel like a fool when it's not me!" She promises, and I just continue to laugh. Poor Imogen needs some new jokes.

"You always say that, but it's always you anyway, Imo."

She looks away from me, still disappointed, until another person comes into view. Her faces lights up prettily, and I can tell who she sees, just by the sparkle of joy in her eyes.

"Fiones!" She screams, and flounces over to her girlfriend eagerly. You'd think that Imogen never sees Fiona by the way she acts every morning, but I can assure you, this is just how Imogen is. Her reactions are consistently strong in almost every situation, but you have to love her for it. Her uniqueness makes her a truly interesting friend.

I smile at the happy couple before opening my locker, only to be interrupted by another friend.

"Well, good morning, Degrassi Daily's second most beautiful editor ever." I hear the voice call, and I scoff in pseudo-offense at the label.

"Ouch, thanks for the… compliment?" I laugh, hoping he understands that I'm not mad.

"Sorry, Clare, Jake is just trying to suck up." Katie explains to me quickly and Jake's futile attempt at brightening my morning is suddenly more understandable.

"To me? Because it's not working." I chuckle, punching my childhood friend in the arm.

"No, to me." She informs, glaring at Jake while directing her words at me. "Yesterday, he called me Gothic Spice in front of the entire hockey team, and the nickname stuck. Now, my locker is covered in Spice Girls paraphernalia, and Mike Dallas keeps singing to me. It's terribly irritating, and it's all Jake's fault. Now, he is trying desperately to redeem himself by downplaying everybody around us, but it's not working." She says smugly, and narrows her eyes at her boyfriend evilly.

"Jake, perhaps you should try flowers next time, instead of half-insulting your oldest friend to get in Katie's good graces." I suggest, with brows raised up in jest, as he tugs roughly on my bra strap and snaps my skin rudely.

"Watch it, Martin." I hiss, with a tone full of underlying threats and ominousness.

"Bring it on, Edwards." He runs away from me, not wanting to be present when I decide to take out my revenge.

Katie merely laughs at her boyfriend's ridiculousness, and we walk together, in comfortable silence, to our English class. I sit down reluctantly and await the daily lecture, ready to rehash some form of overused literature and analyze said work, counting the seconds until I get to go home. As I wait for my teacher to being the lesson, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and cannot resist the urge to view my message. I sneak my phone out and stare at the screen, noticing an unsaved number as the sender. I'm almost in shock by the words I read as they register in my head.

_I know it's risky to text you, but I couldn't wait any longer. Kids are with my parents tonight. I'd like to take you out around 5. On our first date, I mean. If you aren't comfortable, I understand. Just let me know. I hope you're having a great day at school, Clare. –Eli_

With much adrenaline pumping through me, I press the keys furiously and send him a reply.

_That sounds lovely. I'll be there at 5 to "babysit" for the night._

**A/N I have majorly mixed emotions about how this chapter turned out. There are still a lot of characters to introduce and develop, and I have so, so many different ideas for this story, so I really hope some of you stick with me for the ride! **

**20 reviews would be nice, but realistically, considering the previous chapters and the feedback I got, I will ask for 15. I'll update regardless, but 15 reviews would make me super happy. **

**Thank you all for reading and I really hope you enjoyed.**

**If you review, please let me know your favorite part of this chapter, or any other chapter for that matter. I'll pick out my favorite review and send them a sneak peek for the next chapter. Sound good?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N My goodness! I asked for 15 reviews, and didn't really believe that I would get them, but I seriously underestimated you wonderful people! 73 reviews for 3 chapters! I'm so excited and grateful for every piece of feedback! Thank you to BooKitty, shehadastory, CosmicSex, boogalooshrimp123, missmaggiemaybe, degrassiluver15, NamilovesDegrassi98, RRsabi, RomioneJamMimi, pr3tty-odd, InsuperableMisnomer, Amazingxlivexlovexlaughx3, The Cliffhanger Girl, Guest, ForverInYourArms, ammielke09, Guest, baby92sam, littlemissartsi, DEgrassiLover2012, alicia4568, love not, Emilyx3, pellah, guest and anneryn7! And thank you to everyone who read, favorited and followed! Each alert email makes me ridiculously happy!**

**Now, I did have a small contest-like thing last chapter. I said I would send a sneak peek to the person whose favorite moment in the story was MY favorite. But, two people had the same favorite, so I sent it to both of them. The winners were...**

**RRsabi and DegrassiLover2010!**

**I will send them sneak peeks for the next chapter! I promise!**

**For this chapter contest-thing, tell me your favorite line thus far in the story, and who said it. I'll pick my favorite line, and send a sneak peek to said person! I enjoy doing contests because I love reading long reviews, by the way, so expect one every chapter.**

**Also, go read the work of missmaggiemaybe. She's a fantastic writer, and she's got some Eclare and Beckdam, my OTP's. **

**One more thing! Follow me on Tumblr, if you would like. I have two blogs: Degrazzi and torgoldbakewards. I would LOVE to chat with some of you!**

**Thank you, and I hope you enjoy the 4****th**** chapter of "Neighbor Man!"**

Well, I suffered through the entire grueling school day, which seemed to drag by even slower after I got Eli's text. I probably spent 90 percent of my day staring at the clock and gnawing on my fingernails.

Public education… It's _so_ useful.

At lunch, Imogen kept pestering me about why I was so jumpy. When I say pestering, I mean she was harassing me, throwing grapes at me and denouncing me as her friend in a storm of crazy that I can only describe as a temper tantrum. If you haven't already figured it out, Imo _really _hates when I keep secrets. She got over it by 4th period, luckily. I really hate lying to her, and I feel absolutely terrible about it. Imogen is my best friend, and she's been there for me through thick-and-thin. As much as I would love to tell her what's going on, it wouldn't be a good idea at this point. I know she wouldn't judge me; that's not at all what I'm worried about. Imogen is probably the most understanding and accepting person that I know.

But there is one major downfall to confiding in Imogen Moreno. She is ridiculously co-dependent, and she _loves_ spilling everything to the Degrassi's own princess, Fiona Coyne. Fiona _especially_ loves dishing out juicy bits of information, learned in confidence, that she has no business sharing, let alone with the entire student body.

Fiona was voted class gossip-queen four times, consecutively. She has sources almost everywhere in Degrassi who keep her updated minute-by-minute on the latest scandals and status changes. I don't know if it's a personality trait that comes with being obnoxiously wealthy, but Fiona has always been, and will probably always be loquacious. And not necessarily in a good way.

For example, Fiona was the girl who told my entire 3rd grade class that my mother passed away. When I came back to school a few days after the funeral, everyone treated me differently. At 9-years-old, it was hard to deal with classmates knowing such a personal and tragic detail of my life. It didn't take me long to find out the source of the knowledge, and when I did, I had every intention of cutting Fiona out of my life. As I was preparing to give her a speech about personal business and gossip and sensitivity, Mark Fitzgerald brought me 2 dozen dandelions and a can of red soda and told me that I could share his mom. I thought Mark was really cute, and red soda was my favorite. It didn't make up for the fact that my mom was gone, but I definitely smiled for the first time in weeks. After that, I kind of forgot about Fiona and let Mark push me on the swing-set instead.

I digress! You probably don't want to hear about my childhood tragedies, huh?

Back to the point of that mini-rant… I don't generally care about the latest bits of vilification floating around the hallways about me. High school drama and rumors are to be expected, especially in a school with history of violence, shootings, teen pregnancy and an extremely close-knit student body.

But I wouldn't _dare _risk Eli's freedom by spilling the beans about our rendezvous. If Ms. Dawes or Ms. Oh were to hear that _Saint Clare Edwards_ slept with a grown man, I have no doubt that they would call my father, or the police. Maybe both.

Ever since my mother died, female adults in my life seem to take it upon themselves to serve as my mother figure, which mean I have no privacy at school what-so-ever. It didn't bother me when I was younger; it was nice knowing that people were looking out for my well-being. But I'm not a child anymore! No, I'm a young woman, and I feel like I deserve some retreat from the all-knowing eyes and ears of the community and its concerned mother-figures. I think I've turned out alright without a mother.

I am an all-A student, church attendee, hard worker, I pay bills, and I'm abstine-

Uh, well, you get the point. I'm not a terrible child by any means. The way I am treated should reflect that, no?

Oh, who am I kidding? Maybe they _should_ keep a watchful eye on me at all times. I am going on a date with Mr. Goldsworthy tonight.

An _actual _date. At least, I think it's an actual date. He did say "first date," which I have to admit, was a terrifying concept for me to grasp. A date with my boss? I didn't anticipate that this would reach the seriousness of _dates_, or anything dating-adjacent, really.

And what really qualifies as a date? Are we going out to dinner? Or are we going to his house? Does he want to do what we did before? Why does that make me nervous? We did it once, it shouldn't be scary anymore, right? Are we going out in public? Might one assume that we will have a conventional first date, involving such things as dinner, some form of entertainment, kissing?

Oh Lord.

Why? Why did he ask me out? Is he looking for a relationship? Does he just want a repeat of last night? Is he trying to assure my silence? Does he like me? Does he even know enough about me to like me? What if this is a joke? What's going on?

I can't even deal with this.

I throw a few skirts onto my bed and contemplate the quality of each. I want to look great tonight- no, perfect- and I don't even know why. An internal battle wages in my head as I scrutinize my wardrobe for the perfect first date outfit_._ If I dress too extravagantly, I'll look like I'm trying too hard. If I dress down, he'll think I'm a slob. If I dress too modestly, he'll think I'm fooling myself. If I show too much skin, I'll look like a floozy… Which he may already think I am, considering last night…

Oh God, how am I supposed to face him after last night? Are we going to have to talk about what happened? I don't think I can handle this. Maybe I should just cancel.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and, as I am about to type out a long, exaggerated account of the many reason why I cannot accompany Eli tonight, I notice an unopened text message in my inbox.

_Red, white or yellow?_

_Eli_

I lift my brow at the odd question, but reply back with a simple "yellow," and decide that I'll just have to suck it up, go on the date and find out what red, white or yellow means.

If I could muster up the courage to give him my virginity, I can muster up the courage to spend the evening with him… right?

What's the worst that can happen?

* * *

I sit in the passenger's seat of his car. It's quiet, stuffy, and sufficiently awkward. In fact, I cannot remember the last time I experienced such an uncomfortable silence. I glance over at Eli in my peripheral vision, and he looks content. Good for him. I feel like I'm suffocating.

"How was school today?" He asks me, and I can't help but chuckle quietly at how strange and fatherly the statement sounds. Why is it so difficult to interact with him?

I can't help but think, once again, that I've put myself in a terrible situation.

"It was fine." I answer quietly, and my voice cracks on the last word. I feel vulnerable around him. It's a different feeling for me.

"Great." He says simply, and flashes me a wrinkly smirk. I think my mouth just dropped. Why does his smile make me feel a thousand different things at one?

"H-how was your day?" I barely manage to stutter out. Great job, Clare. I'm sure he thinks you're an idiot now, if he didn't already.

"Slow." He smiles, and suddenly turns the car to the left. "I was anticipating some time with a beautiful woman." He looks back over at me and pulls the car into a parking lot

I gape at him incredulously and my face explodes with hot embarrassment.

"Cute blush, Clare." He mocks. The way my name sounds from his voice is thrilling. He raises his brows at me, as if he can read my mind. I hate it.

God, he is so smug.

I don't say anything. I don't even know what to say.

I feel like I'm slowly dying right now, and he is taking immense pleasure in it.

He jumps out of the car and walks over to my door, opening it swiftly and taking my hand in his own. He tugs me gently from my seat, and our eyes meet, igniting silent fireworks between us. I now remember why I slept with him. He's irresistibility in the form of my dark-haired neighbor. That brief meeting of orbs is enough to restore me back to an intelligent being. I can survive this date. I will thrive on it, even.

He may be my neighbor, but our acquaintanceship has been altered, and I may as well go along with the change. For the first time, I feel like he can be more than just that one night of lost inhibitions and broken vows.

"Are you ready for a night that you will _never _forget?" He asks me, almost seductively. I bite my lip at him and grin, feeling my confidence rise up to a reasonable level.

"That depends," I tease, moving myself a few inches closer to him to steal a whiff of his wood-and-pinecone scent before lowering my voice considerably, "do you think you can keep up with me, Mr. Goldsworthy?"

He closes his eyes and takes a moment to absorb my words. He licks his lips, and I watch every movement, devouring each detail with my eyes and reveling in even the most minor aspect of his perfect face. I surprised him. I can tell by his face, and I love the fact that I have an effect on him.

I guess the smugness is rubbing off on me a bit.

His eyes shoot open, and he stares at me with a mixture of excitement and rebellion. "I suppose we will just have to wait and see."

He opens the back seat of his car and digs around with his back to me. I stare at him, wondering what could possibly be up his sleeve. The words he spoke before resonate through my head, a taunting mantra. Am I ready for a night that I will never forget? What could he possibly have in store for me?

I run out of time to question his motives when he pulls a dozen yellow roses out and hands them my way. The lovely scent of flowers wafts up to my nose, and I grin wider than I would have liked. How could I not? I _love_ yellow roses. Suddenly, red, white or yellow seems to make sense.

I look up at him, with adoration in my eyes, I'm sure, and notice him gauging my face for some sort of reaction. I smile bigger, even though I'd rather not show him how simplistic I can be when it comes to romance, because the gesture is more than enough to bring an obnoxious crimson color to my cheeks. "These are beautiful, Eli. Thank you."

"You're beautiful, _Clare. _Thank_ you." _

My stomach lurches pleasurably with each word, and I'm sure he's just saying these things for my benefit. There is no way that he thinks I'm beautiful, right?

Probably not.

Men always think that a few honeyed words will wrap a woman around their finger…

Kind of like they did last night, when I slept with him.

Bravo, Clare. You've managed to give him the impression that you are easily flattered, easily seduced, easily please, easily everything! This is terrible.

I look away from him uncomfortably, because my internal tirade is more than enough to instill reasonable doubt in me for the duration of our night.

"Everything alright?"

I nod and grasp his forearm in my free hand. "Of course. Let's go."

He lets me drag him for a moment, with a grin splayed out mischievously on his face. I stop, feeling foolish, and turn to face him once more.

"I don't, um… Where are we going?" I mutter. Cue the laughter and smugness from Eli, _again._

He points to a building. It's a bit rundown-looking, and the first thing that comes to mind is that he brought me here to kill me. He realized that he's screwed up by sleeping with me, and now he needs to get rid of me, so I can't tell anyone what we did. Oh my gosh, this is really how it's going to end? This is really how my life is going to come to a halt? All because I slept with my stupid neighbor. I'm shaking, _badly,_ and I feel like I need to vomit all over the dirty cement beneath me. I think he notices how nervous I am.

"I-I-I p-promised I w-wouldn't tell." I stammer out, and silently begin to pray to the God who I practically denounced yesterday. My hypocrisy is almost comical, as I beg God to send some sort of grand miracle to save my pathetic life. Nothing happens, except Eli continues to gap at me like I've grown another head.

"Are you afraid of me, Clare?" He inquires, and I detect heavy upset in his tone.

I don't say anything, because I know that there is no right answer at this point. I glare down at my shoes, and inspect a minor smudge of dirt on the left toe. My hands are still shaking, and my mind feels cloudy with fear and embarrassment. I really want to go home.

"You have no reason to be afraid of me. I told you that I care about you, and I meant it. I didn't want to give away the surprise, but if it will assure you, then I guess I have no choice." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out what looks to be a pair of tickets. He hands one over to me, and I take it into my hand.

"You got us Palahniuk tickets?!" I practically scream. Once again, my body betrays my desire to remain calm and collected, but all Eli can do is laugh and smile. He looks relieved, probably because I'm not staring at him like he is about to wedge a knife through my aorta.

"Actually, I got them from work. I need to interview Palahniuk after the reading, and I thought you would like to join me."

I think my eyes are going to pop out of my head. "I get to _meet_ Chuck Palahniuk?"

He nods, and my heart leaps from my chest to some sort of euphoric otherworld where I get to meet my literary idol. I can't honestly believe what is happening right now. I get to meet Palahniuk! This really _is_ a night I won't forget.

"Best first date ever?" He asks me, clearly amused by my excited reaction. My emotions have been so unpredictable tonight that he's probably getting whiplash while trying to figure me out. He doesn't seem too irritated, however, so I won't beat myself up it.

I continue to stare at the prize in my hand- the ticket- and feel myself growing impatient with enthusiasm. "I suppose we will just have to wait and see." I repeat his line from earlier, and the look he gives me guarantees that he will do whatever it takes to make this night unforgettable.

* * *

We sit at a small café, and it's nearly empty. I hold my cappuccino close to my face, and allow the waves of warm sugar and chocolate to assault my chilled cheeks and nostrils. It's delicious. This café is perfect, and the man sitting across from me is indescribable.

"You haven't said much since the reading, Clare. Either you hated Palahniuk, or you're star-struck. Give me a hint." Eli says, before taking a gulp from his coffee. He takes it black, with a pump of vanilla. I put that information into my brain-vault, though I'm not sure why. Do I anticipate getting him coffee someday? Perhaps.

"The latter." I say in a voice that can only be described as 'dazed.'

He chuckles, and reaches over the table to grip my hand in his own. His hands are warm and inviting, and big- my hand is practically drowning in his- and he squeezes my small one gently.

"I can't believe you work for the Interpreter." I tell him, and I'm sure I sound like some pathetic fan-girl.

"Impressive, right?" He laughs, and it's only the ninetieth time I've wanted to wipe that smug grin off of his face tonight.

"Very." I retort back sarcastically, though he is right. It is impressive. Everything about him is impressive, and I'm starting to grow attached to his presence. It's dangerous, I know, because he could disappear, or fire me, or get a girlfriend, or decide that he doesn't want anything to do with some immature high-school babysitter. He could throw me out like yesterday's trash, and the only one who is stands to lose anything here, is me. He has my purity. He has my job in his control. He has it all, and I have nothing. I shouldn't be okay with this.

But for some reason, I am. I am okay with it, because the looks he gives me are full of something warm, and trustworthy, and the feeling of his hand sends tingling stabs of pleasure up my spine.

This is okay. I am okay. I just have to keep telling myself.

"Do you read the Interpreter often?" He questions, but I sense facetiousness in the words. Teenaged girls don't often read newspapers, he probably assumes, but I'm different from the rest, and determined to show him.

"Every morning." I reply with confidence. For once, he looks surprised, and I sip my drink again to hide my own smugness.

"Why is that?"

"I like to know what is going on around me. I like to keep up with current events. It makes me feel involved in the community."

"Ah, so you don't often read the Entertainment section then?" He sounds disappointed. I love this.

"I do, but it's not my favorite. The reviews are so snappy and sarcastic. Not my type of reading. And the writer obviously uses a pseudonym. How… off-putting. He won't even own up to possible backlash over the mostly-negative feedback he gives." I smile, to let him know that I'm joking (mostly,) but something tells me that he is upset, and that I did something very wrong.

"I like my privacy, Clare." He snaps, and I recoil with slight fear. "But you like the flashy writers, don't you? Well, let _me _tell you something about journalism. Writers like Asher Shostack and Don Erickson may get all of the buzz and accolades, and they may look like the backbone of a successful newspaper, but there is more to the Interpreter than pretty-faced reporters with a penchant for life in the limelight, okay? What do you know about journalism, anyway? You're in high school. You don't know anything. Understand?" He finishes his rant, and I cannot remember the last time I felt so terrible.

I nod my head quickly, hoping to appease his growing rage, and I'm pretty sure that I'm going to start crying. He's intimidating, and I obviously hit a nerve with my joke. I really, really want to go home right now.

"I'm sorry." I whisper, but my voice is so quiet and shaken that I'm not sure he even hears me. "I was just making a joke. I'm sorry if it offended you. I like the Entertainment section. You're a great writer." It's probably too late to make amends, and I'm feeling sick to my stomach. I've ruined everything. I got too comfortable with him, and I let him see my true self. Now he hates me, and it's my fault.

"Let's go." He says, but it's more like a demand. In all honesty, I'm afraid to go home with him.

"W-we aren't too far from my h-house. I can just walk." I dart up from my chair and offer him a weak smile. "I-I had fun. Thanks again." My voice falters and I throw a few dollars on the table for my cappuccino before turning and bolting from the café.

As soon as the chilly air hits my face, the tears begin to fall. Why do I care about this so much? Is it the emotional attachment that comes with sex? Maybe. Is it the fact that I'm afraid to lose his presence in my life? Maybe that, too. But there is so much rushing through my head right now that I cannot decide exactly why my heart is feeling heavy and empty at the same time. All I want to do is curl up under my comforter, snuggle up to my pillow, and let my dreams take me far away from this ridiculous situation. And who was I kidding? We are at least a half hour from my house, and that is in the car. I'm stranded, and lost, and sad.

I cry harder, and suddenly, someone grabs me from behind. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand is thrown over my mouth. I'm going to be raped, or killed, or tortured. Of course this would happen. It's not like my night has been terrible already…

"Shhh. It's me." The voice tells me, and it resounds with familiarity through my ears. He lets me go and I back away from him, still frightened from what happened in the café. My back hits a brick wall, and it hurts, badly, but it's not the time for me to show vulnerability. I need to be ready to run from him, in case things take a turn for the worse. "I'm sorry about my behavior." He says, and his voice is so pitifully guilty, that I believe it. "I'm annoyingly passionate about my job, call me sensitive if you will, and I only use an alias to protect my privacy. I see the way that my coworkers eat up the attention, and it makes me sick. Call me antisocial or introverted or whatever. I just like to go home at the end of the day, and leave work where it belongs- at work. I should have said that, rather than blowing up at you."

He finishes his rant and wipes a tear from my face with his thumb. Then, he takes a step back, as if he is passing the control of the situation over to me. I walk forward a bit, so that I'm standing right in front of him, but I don't meet his eyes. I'm still a bit wary, and I know he cannot blame me for that, so I don't force myself to do anything.

"I-I forgive you. And I'm sorry too. Can we just forget about this part of the night? I was having such a good time." I hate the way I sound like a scared little girl right now. I just hope the truth in my voice is clear, because I'm not lying to him. I really was having a good night. Meeting my idol was simply perfect, and getting to hear about his life and inspiration was inspiring in itself. The café was quaint and comfortable, our conversation was lively. What more could I even ask for in a first date? It was a lovely night, once I loosened up, and I honestly do not want it to end over such an outlandish argument. I do feel like he was a little bit harsh to me, but it's probably just his short temper. That's not a deal-breaker, right?

He moves to occupy the small space between us, and he looks down at me sweetly. Our breathing is synchronized, and slowed down from the heated moment before. It's like nothing bad happened at all, and it's just the two of us again, in all of our beautiful complication. I don't know how I feel about the fact that we can go from zero to sixty in the span of 3 minutes when it comes to fighting. Volatile relationships are dangerous, I know this, but this isn't even a relationship, and maybe it was a one-time thing.

The possibility of having a fight is no reason to call this off, so I push my trepidations aside, and allow the tension throughout my body to fall away. He leans in close, and plants a sweet kiss on my cheek. His lips leave my cheek warm and I smile again, genuinely this time.

"Allow me to escort you home, mi lady?" He asks in a deep, sensual voice, and all I can do is nod at him.

This time, I lean forward and plant a kiss on his lips, a kiss that I didn't even know I wanted. He immediately reciprocates, and our lips dance heatedly in a way that is _way _too much for a public place. Luckily for us, this sidewalk is deserted, and the only eyes around are the closed ones of Eli and me. His tongue licks my lower lip and my only thought is how I want that tongue to be in a thousand other places on my body. In a moment that can only be caused by a completely sexual frenzy, I pull away and make a suggestion that is incredibly uncharacteristic to the Clare Edwards that I used to be.

"Maybe we should go back to your place."

**Okay, so that chapter was full of first date and Clare's insecure internal dialogue. I don't know how much I liked it, so I will post it before I can second guess myself. Things are getting intense between these two, and this is just the beginning. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and DON'T FORGET ABOUT THE CONTEST. The winners of both contests will receive previews to the next chapter.**

**15 reviews before the next chapter? I promise the gap will not be as huge between 4 and 5. I've just been crazy swamped with school and work and boyfriend time, and I let myself get behind on writing.**

**Anyways, please tell me what you think! Compliments and criticism are both appreciated! Thanks!**

**P.S I know Clare's thoughts jump around a lot, but I wrote her that way for a reason. I want to really highlight the fact that Clare is mature, but she also just a teenager, and hasn't had the best track record with love or relationships. **


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you so much to everyone who gave me feedback for this chapter. I'm super tired, so I won't list them individually. But you guys are the greatest! I'm so sorry for my inconsistent updates! I promise I'm working on it. This chapter was kind of for filler purposes, but also to elaborate on some characters and transition to some of the drama. **_

_**I hope you like it! Please read and review!**_

"Miss Clare, Pablo stuck his finger in my ear!"

I hear the pattering of tiny feet, followed by a few howls of protest and argument that echo throughout the house.

Adriana runs into the kitchen and stops a few feet away from me. She holds her ear and scowls in the direction of her older brother. Her curly black hair sticks up wildly in all directions, and her cheeks are tinted an angry red.

Pablo follows closely behind, and stops a few feet behind her. His arms are crossed over his chest, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he is angry at her, or me. Maybe both of us. But I know him better than that, and I can detect the hints of guilt and regret in his features. He feels bad.

"Pablo, why would you do that to your sister?" I ask, readying myself for some kind of ridiculous answer from the boy. I'm rather accustomed to playing mediator between the two of them. Adriana is 5, Pablo is 6, and they are most _definitely_ Eli's children. They have fiery tempers, and tend to argue about everything under the sun. Some days, it's cute. Other days, not so much.

"Her ears are bigger than mine. I wanted to see if my whole finger could fit in one."

I stifle back a laugh, send Pablo into the corner for a brief time out, console Adriana and resume my place at the stove, cooking their dinner. I opted to make homemade macaroni and cheese tonight, because a little birdie told me that it's Eli's favorite meal. As I mix the noodles in a pot of boiling water, Elijah Jr. sits on the floor next to me, playing with a transformer toy and humming a tune.

"Miss. Clare?" he whispers, and I'm a bit taken aback. He doesn't often speak, to me or anyone else.

"Yes?"

He seems to contemplate his words for a moment, and then shakes his head and sighs. "Never mind."

I put down the spoon and kneel down next to the three-year-old, who has returned his attention to the toy, but harbors a look of confliction on his baby-like features.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?"

He gets up and plops down on my knee, making himself comfortable. I smile a bit, because he seems to love when I hold him, and it makes me feel wanted, needed and appreciated.

"I miss daddy."

The statement confuses me, and I turn him around a bit to get a look at his face. He looks so sad that I feel a few tears welling up in my own eyes. I can't stand to see such a sweet little boy in so much pain.

"Your daddy is still around, Elijah. Why do you miss him?"

"He's always gone."

I hold him a little bit closer and let his tiny head fall on my shoulder. "Your daddy has been working a lot so he has money to buy you all the toys you want."

"But I miss him, Miss. Clare." He begins to cry, and my heart breaks a little bit with every one of his tears.

I put my arms around him, and stand up from the ground, holding him tightly. "I know you do. But I think I know what will make you feel better…" I walk him into the living room, and set him down on the couch. I grab the remote control off of the bookshelf and see a devious smile creep up on his face.

The kids aren't allowed to watch too much television when I'm there, per Eli's request. He says that watching television all of the time makes kids anti-social, and he likes to save it for special occasions only. I'm going to use my judgment and say that it's okay for him to watch an hour of educational programming today. He's just so pitifully sad, and I can't stand to see him hurting.

Eli will understand why I am being lenient. If he doesn't, I suppose I'll just have to _make_ him understand.

I flip on the station, and he is immediately engrossed in the show. I lean over and give him a quick kiss on the head before making my way back into the kitchen. Luckily, the noodles aren't overcooked, and I continue to prepare our dinner.

Little Eli's words weigh heavily in my mind as I go through the motions of macaroni and cheese preparation. I understand that Eli works hard to support his family, but shouldn't he also make time to actually interact with his kids? He never sees them anymore, and it's obviously taking a toll on his youngest. I imagine that Pablo and Adriana feel the same way, and it's a shame. As someone who lost their mother at a young age, I understand the importance of spending time with family while you can. Since Mrs. Goldsworthy left them, the kids only have Eli to rely on for love, parenting and guidance. Lately, it seems like I am more of a parent than he is.

I wonder if it would be inappropriate for me to mention this to Eli… It's only been a little over two weeks since we first became intimate. We talk every night when he gets home, we make love every few days, and we text throughout the day. Would it really overstep my boundaries to suggest that he spend more time with his children? I don't feel comfortable just distracting little Eli with cartoons every time he gets upset about his dad. Something needs to change.

I spoon the rest of the macaroni into a baking pan, sprinkle the top with bread crumbs and put it in the oven before dialing his phone number.

"Hey Clare. Is everything alright?"

I smile at the sound of his voice and reply quickly with, "Everything is fine, Eli. Do you have a moment to talk?"

He chuckles at the question.

"I have all time in the world for you."

The response brings familiar warmth to my stomach, but I push it away because I know this conversation may get ugly.

"Well… I was wondering… You know, I… It's just…"

"Clare, spit it out." He says playfully, but I'm sure that I'm getting on his nerves. He doesn't like when I beat around the bush. I walk across to the entry of the living room and see little Eli on his tummy, staring intently at the television. I need to do this for him.

"Little Eli was crying for you earlier… He says he misses you, and I got to thinking… You haven't really had much time to spend with the kids lately. I've babysat every night for almost a month. I'm just worried about them, you know?"

He remains silent for a few moments. I regret even calling him at this point. Maybe I _did_ overstep my boundaries. Maybe he only thinks of me as the babysitter, and feels that I have no right calling him out on his lax parenting. Gosh, I hope I didn't screw everything up.

"I have to go." He blurts out quickly.

And there it is… the dial tone.

I resist the urge to cry as I set my cell phone on the counter and walk away. I need to clear my mind, before I obsessively call him back and beg him to talk to me. Why does Eli have to be like that? Whenever he has a problem, he gets cold and irritable. He can never just come out and say that he's upset. Now I feel absolutely terrible that I even called him. Well, if he hates me, at least he'll know that his little boy was crying for him. At least he may realize that his kids need him around more.

They already lost their mom; they _need _their dad.

I check on dinner one final time before joining little Eli on the couch. He cuddles up to me, and I close my eyes, enjoying the love that I'm receiving from the boy. It helps me forget the sadness that his father brought to me only moments before.

* * *

The kids sit eagerly at the dinner table, chatting animatedly amongst themselves as I put the final touches on the meal. I bring their plates out individually, and set cups full of milk next to the two oldest, and a Sippy cup of juice next to little Eli. Macaroni, fresh baked rolls and grilled chicken Caesar salad decorates the plates, and a sense of pride and accomplishment swells in me. I'm good at this. I'll be a good mom one day, I'm sure of it.

In some ways, I feel like I already am.

I join them at the table, and listen as Adriana recaps the latest Kindergarten gossip and Pablo chimes in about how first grade is so much more interesting and fun and mature. They bicker a bit, and little Eli throws a piece of chicken between them. The table goes quiet, and I feel like I should probably punish him, but he successfully quieted his siblings, and I'm proud of him for it.

"Please don't throw any more food, Elijah?" I playfully ask him, and receive a toothy grin in reply.

"Did I hear somebody say food and throwing in the same sentence?"

I whip around and, lo and behold, the man I've been thinking of all night is standing behind me. In one arm, he holds a bouquet of yellow roses. In the other, a bouquet of red roses and a large, brown bag. The kids all perk up at the sound of his voice, and little Eli practically jumps out of his seat. For a child who is generally reserved, he looks as if he is about to explode with joy.

"I got out of work early and picked up some surprises!" Eli exclaimed. It's so _beyond_ beautiful to see him interacting with these wonderful kids. I almost feel as if I am interrupting a private, family occasion. I rise up from my chair and push it in awkwardly. The kids are all surrounding Eli at this point, hugging his pant legs and begging him to show them the surprises.

"I made dinner. Since I know you need some family time, I'll let myself out." I say this quietly, because I still feel awkward about the way things went on the phone earlier, and I don't know if he's mad at me.

As I start to walk away, he grabs my arm gently and turns me around, so that I'm facing him at a close proximity. He pulls me in and whispers, "Are you crazy? You _are_ family. Please stay?"

I can't fight the grin that makes its way onto my face, and I nod. He hands me the bouquet of yellow roses, and winks at me.

"Daddy, why did you bring flowers for Miss Clare?" Adriana asks.

"I give flowers to all of the pretty girls in my life." he retorts, and hands his little girl the other bouquet. She practically squeals with delight as she hugs him, squishing her flowers in the process. She doesn't seem to notice, however, and I let out the breath that I was holding. Adriana can be a bit of a drama queen, and I don't want to see her have a meltdown about crushed roses. It may put a slight damper on what has turned out to be a great night.

I watch the reactions of each child as Eli hands out the rest of the surprises. New, packaged toys now litter the floor of the dining room, including a glittery, princess make-up kit for Adriana. I know that he will regret that purchase in the near future, but I refrain from adding my two-cents. I think I've done that enough for one night.

I see the dinner I slaved over still on the table, and my stomach rumbles. The kids didn't have much of an opportunity to eat before Eli came home, and I'm sure he's hungry, too. And, I kind of want him to see how great I am at making mac n' cheese.

"Perhaps we can eat before you play with your toys?" I suggest to the kids, hoping I won't hear a chorus of disappointment. They all nod and take their places at the table. At least I'm not the only one who wants dinner.

"I made macaroni and rolls from scratch, with a Caesar salad on the side… Are you hungry?" I ask Eli. His eyes light up at the mention of macaroni, and he practically runs to the table. The kids giggle at his antics, and I watch happily as he shovels my home-cooking into his mouth. I could get used to moments like these, and I can tell he feels the same, because he reaches under the table and grasps my hand.

Eli is tucking the kids into bed, and I am on the couch, reading a book and waiting for him. I hear feet on the carpeted steps, and look up from my page. He looks sleepy, but content as he plops down next to me. He pulls me into his arms and I rest my head in the crook of his shoulder. He is warm, inviting, and everything that I could possibly want in this moment.

"I wasn't mad at you, Clare." He whispers in my ear, and goosebumps crawl all over my skin at his breath. "I just felt bad… But I'm happy you told me. I'm happy that you feel like you can talk to me about things like that. I've just been so caught up with _The Interpreter_… I'll work on it. I'll take more days off and come home earlier. They need me, and I need them too."

His words make me happy, so I just nod and enjoy the following silence between us. Even though it's only been a few weeks, I feel like we've been this way forever. I feel like he is my home, and his kids are my own; I feel like we are our own, dysfunctional family. I try not to think about it too much, because getting comfortable is dangerous. Life can change in the blink of an eye, and I don't want to set myself up for more pain. If I don't let myself get attached, maybe I won't hurt so badly if Eli doesn't want me around anymore.

I couldn't bear to lose Eli, or Adriana, Pablo and Elijah. It would hurt too much, more than almost any other pain in the world.

I've lost enough people.

"Eli, can you promise me something?" I say, letting my vulnerability rear its head again.

"May-be." He chimes in a sing-song tone.

"Promise that you won't just throw me away?"

He looks at me strangely, but with seriousness in his eyes.

"I care about you _way_ too much to ever do that."

I believe him. I believe him because he sounds so honest, but also because I don't want to lose him.. I don't have the heart to over-analyze his promises. I can't let doubt get the best of me, because I need him more than anything right now.

I can't lose him.

Not now, not ever.

* * *

After an hour of talking and kissing, I decide to head home for the night. I haven't seen my dad lately, and it would be nice to know how he's doing. Even though a part of me just wants to stay in Eli's arms for the rest of the night, my dad will start to get suspicious if I stop coming home altogether. Plus, Angel is more astute than she lets on, and I can't risk her discovering that I'm doing much more than babysitting for Eli. She would blackmail me for life.

As I walk through the front door, something feels different in the house. It's absolutely silent in my house, and none of the lights are on. I pull out my phone to help me find the light-switch, and I notice that the time on my phone reads 10pm. Even on school nights, Angel doesn't go to sleep until midnight. And dad is usually up, watching TV, until 1am. I'm only mildly taken aback, though, because my dad has been _really_ busy lately. He was probably exhausted, and turned in early. I can't blame him.

Angel probably snuck out. She's been really rebellious lately.

So, the house is quiet. Not a big deal.

I walk up to my bed room, and notice that all of the doors in the hallway are open. That strikes me as odd, because my dad likes to have all of the rooms closed when they aren't occupied.

As I pass the threshold to my room, I can't control the gasp that escapes my mouth. My room has been turned upside-down. All of my belongings are out of place. My drawers are empty; their contents sprawled out on my carpeted floor. I rush over to my desk. My IPod is gone. My jewelry box is empty. All of the valuable things I own have been taken.

I run over to Angel's room. Her room is equally as disheveled.

Dad's room. Same.

I run into the living room. Our television is gone. Everything is gone.

Fear overtakes me as I rush out the front door, desperate to get away from the crime scene that used to be my home. I basically collapse on the front lawn.

Someone robbed us.

Where is my dad? Where's my sister? I feel dizzy, like I'm going to faint, and wake up, and realize that none of this happened.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial 911.

_**Okay, so the story is finally starting. I will have a lot of Eclare involved, but there are several other storylines that will happen. I hope that's okay with you. A lot of this chapter was to establish the characters of little Eli, Adriana and Pablo. Call it filler, if you'd like. It's necessary for character development.**_

_**Contest for this chapter is to guess what happened to Clare's house. Guess who did it, why or whatever, and whoever guesses the closest will get a sneak peek. The next chapter will be very long, detailed and filled with action. There will be some smut, some development of Angel and a little bit of my favorite ex-Degrassian, Mark Fitzgerald. So, please read and review. **_


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